{"id":15512,"date":"2021-08-08T22:56:52","date_gmt":"2021-08-08T19:56:52","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/ziarulderimnic.ro\/?p=15512"},"modified":"2021-08-08T22:59:16","modified_gmt":"2021-08-08T19:59:16","slug":"spatii-culturale-nr-77-7","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/ziarulderimnic.ro\/?p=15512","title":{"rendered":"Spa\u021bii culturale nr. 77 (7)"},"content":{"rendered":"

Valeria MANTA T\u0102ICU\u021aU <\/strong>
\n\"\"

Liceu, cimitir\u2026<\/strong><\/p>\n

Au trecut ore, zile, s\u0103pt\u0103m\u00e2ni. A venit toamna \u00een marele ora\u0219, respira\u021bia ei a devenit respira\u021bia mea. Cocorii r\u0103m\u00e2n pe deasupra, \u00een zarea de sticl\u0103, \u00een zarea de fum. Zborul lor aritmetic vine dintr-o porunc\u0103 mai mare dec\u00e2t aceea a cupolelor poleite, a crucilor azv\u00e2rlite \u00een cerul a\u021bos. Jos e vuietul negru al ma\u0219inilor de fum, el sec\u021bioneaz\u0103 arterele ora\u0219ului \u00een c\u0103utare de s\u00e2nge. Ferestrele se \u00eenchid spre pustiul dinl\u0103untru, culorile zac \u00een panouri publicitare cu promisiuni. Rupem rug\u0103ciunile \u00een dou\u0103, \u00eenv\u0103\u021ba\u021bi rapid s\u0103 mestec\u0103m hamburgeri \u0219i shaorme \u00een sta\u021biile de autobuz, printre porumbei debusola\u021bi, ori \u00een burta de balen\u0103 a metroului. Care e \u021binta, care e scopul acestei mi\u0219c\u0103ri volatile \u00een cerc?
\nCocorii \u021bip\u0103 spre mine, frunzele cad pe al\u0103turi \u0219i toamna \u00ee\u0219i preg\u0103te\u0219te armele de v\u00e2n\u0103toare. Ea singur\u0103 \u0219tie cum se cucere\u0219te un mare ora\u0219, o mare minciun\u0103.
\nTrec pe l\u00e2ng\u0103 umbrele din plastic, pe l\u00e2ng\u0103 haine cu miros de subsol \u0219i naftalin\u0103, cu fluturi mor\u021bi \u00een buzunare.
\nC\u00e2te o palm\u0103 de la v\u00e2nt, de la ploaie \u0219i de la cer \u00eenvioreaz\u0103 mi\u0219carea \u00een cerc, volatil\u0103, pe str\u0103zi cu cl\u0103diri \u0219i statui \u00eenfipte \u00een ele.
\nNeon, reclame luminoase (\u201eNora-lux \u2013 pl\u0103cere \u00eenghe\u021bat\u0103\u201d, \u201eLa visul imagina\u021biei, magazin second-hand\u201d \u0219.a.m.d), lumea de pe lume pe str\u0103zi, c\u00e2ini, claxoane, scr\u00e2\u0219nete, \u00eenjur\u0103turi, strig\u0103te, pocnete (confec\u021bionate artizanal sau \u0219terpelite din stocul de Cr\u0103ciun, pocnitorile sunt o realitate a fiec\u0103rui sezon), fluier\u0103turi, hohote, toate pe un fundal de manea dulceag\u0103, dedicat\u0103 fra\u021bilor care \u0219tiu ce-nseamn\u0103 s\u0103 ai du\u0219mani.
\n\u00cen zona monden\u0103 BRD se aud vaietele lui Adi Minune: \u201eNiciodat\u0103 nu se poate\/ S\u0103 nu ai du\u0219mani mul\u021bi, frate\/ Doar din cauza la femei \/C\u0103 cheltuie mii de lei\u201d, \u00een timp ce, peste drum, pe treptele de marmur\u0103 ale unei farmacii, forma\u021bia \u201eGeneric\u201d hibrideaz\u0103 maneaua cu hora de la Socola: \u201eM\u0103 vorbesc du\u0219manii mei\/ C\u0103 sparg miile de lei\/ Ce le pas\u0103 la du\u0219mani\/ Ce fac io cu-at\u00e2\u021bia bani?\u201d. Mai expresiv, mai plin pe sine \u0219i cu capsa deja pus\u0103, un alt manelist-minune tun\u0103 \u0219i fulger\u0103: \u201eCe moare du\u0219manii mei\/ C\u0103 am faim\u0103 la femei\u201d, \u00een vreme ce o duzin\u0103 de muco\u0219i, al c\u0103ror loc ar fi trebuit s\u0103 fie de mult \u00een cortul p\u0103rintesc, fr\u0103m\u00e2nt\u0103 nisipul r\u0103mas de la implementarea pavelelor \u00een trotuar. Domni\u0219oare cu fuste multicolor plisate \u00ee\u0219i sticlesc aurul din cozi, gur\u0103 \u0219i urechi \u0219i, trec\u00e2nd ca n\u0103lucile prin fumul de trabuc cu iz de mititei \u0219i bere, par \u00eentruchiparea suspinelor de dor emise pe frecven\u021b\u0103 \u00eenalt\u0103 de alt copil minune al manelisticii de bordel: \u201eMai d\u0103-mi un s\u0103rut\/ C\u0103-mi place a\u0219a mult\/ De-acuma po\u021bi pleca\/ Cu inimioara mea\u201d.
\nToate bune \u0219i frumoase, numai c\u0103 m\u0103 plictisesc de moarte. La seral, bate v\u00e2ntul prin clase, \u00een afar\u0103 de mine, abia dac\u0103 mai vin doi-trei b\u0103ie\u021bi de raft din supermarket \u0219i vreo am\u0103r\u00e2t\u0103 care nu \u0219tie exact de ce se afl\u0103 acolo. Profesorii nu se omoar\u0103, vin pe la sf\u00e2r\u0219itul orei \u0219i ne dau teme pentru data viitoare: eseuri t\u00e2mpite, pe care le po\u021bi ob\u021bine prin copy-paste de pe internet, c\u0103 oricum nu le cite\u0219te nimeni. Timpul trece, ambele tabere fac act de prezen\u021b\u0103 \u0219i toat\u0103 lumea e mul\u021bumit\u0103. Eu, nu. Nu cred c\u0103-mi pot permite risipa de timp \u0219i pedalatul \u00een gol. Patru ani pe o biciclet\u0103 f\u0103r\u0103 rost nu-i chiar idealul meu de educa\u021bie.
\nMerg apatic\u0103 spre liceu, \u00een lumina tulbure a sf\u00e2r\u0219itului de zi. Ast\u0103zi n-am \u00een orar rom\u00e2na, doar istorie, informatic\u0103, geografie \u0219i matematic\u0103. La informatic\u0103 n-avem \u00eenc\u0103 profesor, la istorie \u0219i geografie m\u0103 descurc acceptabil, datorit\u0103 lecturilor aprofundate din biblioteca doctorului F\u0103ini\u021b\u0103 \u0219i pentru c\u0103 am parcurs, cu memoria mea fotografic\u0103, manualele de la cap la coad\u0103, iar doamna de matematic\u0103 e o scump\u0103. Acum c\u00e2teva s\u0103pt\u0103m\u00e2ni, c\u00e2nd a intrat \u00een sala de clas\u0103 \u0219i a v\u0103zut c\u0103 numai eu mi-am rupt din timp ca s\u0103 fiu prezent\u0103, m-a \u00eentrebat dac\u0103 nu am altceva mai bun de f\u0103cut, c\u0103 \u0219i ea s-ar duce acas\u0103, a avut ore de la 12 \u0219i s-a s\u0103turat. Am rugat-o s\u0103-mi dea ni\u0219te teste, pentru lucru la domiciliu. \u201eP\u0103i n-ai destule \u00een manual?\u201d. C\u00e2nd a aflat c\u0103 le-am rezolvat pe toate, \u00eent\u00e2i a crezut c\u0103 fac glume proaste, de camerist\u0103 la hotelul \u201eCrizantema\u201d. \u00centr-un sfert de or\u0103, s-a l\u0103murit c\u0103 treaba era serioas\u0103 \u0219i a uitat c\u0103 e obosit\u0103 \u0219i c\u0103 a vorbit toat\u0103 ziua cu tabla \u0219i cu pere\u021bii. Ne-a dat afar\u0103 din liceu paznicul de noapte, neobi\u0219nuit cu pasiona\u021bii de matematic\u0103 \u00een nocturn\u0103. \u201eDac\u0103 a\u0219 fi \u00eent\u00e2lnit, \u00een primii mei ani de carier\u0103 didactic\u0103, un singur elev ca tine, mi-a\u0219 fi iubit mai mult meseria\u201d, a suspinat doamna, hot\u0103r\u00e2t\u0103 s\u0103 m\u0103 \u00eenve\u021be tot ce \u0219tie, \u00een cel mai scurt timp \u0219i cu maxim\u0103 eficien\u021b\u0103.<\/p>\n

(Fragmente din vol. \u201e\u00cengeri S.A.\u201d)<\/em><\/p>\n


\nDiana TRANDAFIR <\/strong>
\n\"\"

\u00cemplinire<\/strong><\/p>\n

a \u00eenceput s\u0103 rugineasc\u0103
\nchiar \u0219i glon\u021bul abia r\u0103t\u0103cit
\nTotul se descoper\u0103
\ndesferec\u00e2nd buzele
\nsp\u0103rg\u00e2nd lac\u0103tele
\ndep\u0103n\u00e2nd amintiri
\nDoar astfel fiin\u021bele \u0219i obiectele
\nau \u0219ansa s\u0103 se prefac\u0103-n imagini
\nNisipul se pietrific\u0103 \u00eentr-o perl\u0103 de mare
\nscoas\u0103 cu t\u00e2rn\u0103copul
\ndin netr\u0103itul tr\u0103it<\/p>\n


\nAxa lumii<\/strong><\/p>\n

\u00eencerci rezisten\u021ba m\u0103t\u0103sii \u00een \u0219oapt\u0103
\nprivim spre tavan
\nprin oglinzi ne\u00eentoarse
\nlinii curbe curen\u021bi
\nDevo\u021biunea nu transpare prea clar
\ngr\u00e2u copt \u0219i totu\u0219i un chip
\nAr fi trebuit s\u0103 fie \u0219i lacrimi
\n\u00eens\u0103 nu
\n\u00cenf\u0103\u0219urat\u0103 \u00een mine
\n\u0219i \u00een toate dimine\u021bile reci
\nr\u0103sucite-n cear\u0219afuri
\nnu mi-a\u0219 dori s\u0103 fiu altceva
\nde\u0219i exist\u0103
\nnenum\u0103rate feluri de-nghe\u021b<\/p>\n


\nSperan\u021b\u0103<\/strong><\/p>\n

strada aceasta plin\u0103 de glasuri de oameni
\nde c\u00e2ini \u0219i de p\u0103s\u0103ri de curte
\ne ca o proiec\u021bie mut\u0103 \u00een cinematograful de var\u0103
\nsau poate c\u0103 strada e un fel de parfumerie
\nce \u021bine locul p\u0103durilor de alt\u0103dat\u0103
\ntoate topite acum
\n\u00een lujerul unor begonii
\npline ochi de culoare
\nVara plou\u0103 toren\u021bial pe strada cu plopi
\n\u00eens\u0103 aerul r\u0103m\u00e2ne la fel de fierbinte
\nSe spune c\u0103 marile speran\u021be
\nsunt atrase magnetic
\nde marile ora\u0219e
\nPrin fa\u021ba cazinoului
\ncurcubeul se plimb\u0103 descul\u021b
\nde aceea sunt pline de sori
\na\u0219tept\u0103rile<\/p>\n


\nNu noi<\/strong><\/p>\n

primordial\u0103 \u2013 iluzia
\nSeara coboar\u0103 alb\u0103
\ns\u0103p\u00e2nd fiec\u0103rui porumbel
\nc\u00e2te-o fereastr\u0103 \u00een piept
\n\u0218oarecii nu-\u0219i g\u0103sesc locul
\nM\u0103 str\u00e2ngi \u00een bra\u021be
\nca \u0219i c\u00e2nd a\u0219 fi din nou
\no imens\u0103
\nm\u00e2n\u0103-nghe\u021bat\u0103<\/p>\n


\nDiluviu<\/strong><\/p>\n

anotimpul ploios a chemat p\u0103s\u0103rile
\n\u0219i mai aproape de ape
\nC\u00e2nd cobor \u00een luntrea pove\u0219tilor
\nsimt laolalt\u0103 dep\u0103rtarea \u0219i cerul
\nStrig blana c\u00e2inelui pe numele de alint –
\nnu-mi r\u0103spunde
\n\u00cen saco\u0219a \u00een care a plouat ca \u00eentr-o groap\u0103
\nn\u0103lucirea prinde
\nconturul unor desene cu molii
\n\u00cenciudat\u0103 c\u0103 zeii \u0219i-au l\u0103sat
\nmiresmele tulburi pe mal
\nscriu poemul acesta
\ncu m\u00e2na f\u0103r\u00e2micioas\u0103
\nabsent\u0103<\/p>\n


\nM\u00e2ine<\/strong><\/p>\n

diminea\u021ba arunc\u0103 o parte din mine –
\nsunt un p\u0103m\u00e2nt nou-nou\u021b
\nCaut dunga zilei de ieri
\n\u00eens\u0103 e altceva
\ncu bolta ritmat\u0103 a cerului
\nPeste noapte
\ni-au crescut noi r\u00e2nduri de carne
\nPip\u0103i apoi zidul fumuriu
\nbr\u0103zdat de-ndoieli
\npe care se cocoa\u021b\u0103 liane
\n\u00eenc\u0103rcate cu ace de pin
\nM\u00e2inile
\ndezmiard\u0103 na\u0219terea templului
\ndar c\u0103r\u021bile nu povestesc niciodat\u0103
\ndespre aceast\u0103 risip\u0103<\/p>\n


\nPaul SPIRESCU <\/strong>
\n\"\"

Prefer s\u0103 tac<\/strong><\/p>\n

Prefer s\u0103 tac pentru c\u0103-mi vin \u00een gur\u0103
\nnumai cuvinte cu parfum de-njur\u0103tur\u0103
\ntocmai \u00een ceas de cuminec\u0103tur\u0103<\/p>\n

\u0219i c\u00e2t sunt eu de simplu \u0219i de prost
\nchiar dac\u0103 nu mai are niciun rost
\nprefer s\u0103 r\u0103m\u00e2n totu\u0219i cum am fost.<\/p>\n

Chiar dac\u0103 m\u0103 b\u00e2rfi\u021bi nu mi se pare
\nc\u0103 voi o s\u0103-mi sufla\u021bi \u00een lum\u00e2nare:
\ne unul mult mai drept \u0219i mult mai tare…<\/p>\n

zbur\u00e2nd din vis \u00een vis, din carte-n carte
\ne unul mult mai sus \u0219i mai departe
\ns\u0103 m\u0103 conduc\u0103 dincolo de Moarte…!<\/p>\n


\nRelativitate restr\u00e2ns\u0103<\/strong><\/p>\n

Poate-i t\u00e2rziu: am obosit de mult s\u0103 mai r\u0103spund le telefon
\nm\u0103 poart\u0103 lumea asta, mereu, din \u00eentrebare-n \u00eentrebare.
\nDin ce \u00een ce mai rar mi se \u00eent\u00e2mpl\u0103, parc\u0103, s\u0103 visez
\nc\u0103 m\u0103-nt\u00e2lnesc prin somn, s\u0103 cochetez cu Ursa Mare.<\/p>\n

A\u0219 face-un semn cumva c\u0103tre prietenii din ve\u0219nicie
\ndar e t\u00e2rziu \u0219i e-ntuneric \u0219i nu mai am de nimeni \u0219tire.
\nC\u00e2t de rapid \u00ee\u0219i mai rote\u0219te doamna Fiin\u021b\u0103 constela\u021biile
\n\u0219i c\u00e2t de lent mai curge domnul Timp prin cimitire…<\/p>\n


\nL\u0103sa\u021bi poe\u021bii s\u0103 moar\u0103<\/strong><\/p>\n

Nu mai este nevoie de poe\u021bi: acum
\npoemele se scriu singure
\ncum singure cresc florile de prim\u0103var\u0103
\ndoar din ele \u00eensele.
\nPoe\u021bii ar face bine s\u0103 moar\u0103
\nsau, \u0219i mai bine ar face s\u0103 nu se mai nasc\u0103
\nniciodat\u0103.<\/p>\n

Nu mai este nevoie de poe\u021bi:
\npoemele se \u021bes singure
\nca visele sau ca visurile.
\nPlou\u0103 cu poeme \u00een sufletele oamenilor
\n\u0219i nu se mai na\u0219te niciun Noe
\ns\u0103-i salveze de potop.<\/p>\n

Oamenii nu se nasc poe\u021bi
\noamenii se nasc poeme.<\/p>\n

L\u0103sa\u021bi deci poe\u021bii s\u0103 moar\u0103…<\/p>\n


\nFaptul divers<\/strong><\/p>\n

Ceva – ceva urmeaz\u0103 totu\u0219i s\u0103 se \u00eent\u00e2mple-aici \u00een cas\u0103
\ndeja perdelele sunt trase \u0219i candelabrele sunt stinse
\npesemne c\u0103 la miezul nop\u021bii, cu bra\u021be reci \u0219i plete ninse
\n\u00eemi va suna discret la u\u0219\u0103 ne\u00eembl\u00e2nzita mea mireas\u0103<\/p>\n

\u00een curte explodeaz\u0103 bombe \u0219i \u021b\u0103c\u0103nesc mitraliere
\n\u0219i eu a\u0219tept cu disperare s-o v\u0103d intr\u00e2nd dar ea nu vine
\nz\u0103pezi de ger siberiene mi se a\u0219eaz\u0103 pe retine
\n\u0219i-mi trec prin creier gloan\u021be oarbe \u0219i am \u00een gur\u0103 gust de fiere<\/p>\n

a\u0219a c\u0103 pendulez bezmetic \u00eentre-\u00eentuneric \u0219i lumin\u0103
\nfluturii-mi \u00eengr\u0103desc intrarea spre estuarul dinspre ape
\n\u0219i nici singur\u0103tatea parc\u0103 de-o vreme nu m\u0103 mai \u00eencape
\n\u0219i doar copoii destr\u0103m\u0103rii \u00eemi mai alearg\u0103 prin gr\u0103din\u0103…<\/p>\n


\nGr\u0103be\u0219te-te, Doamne<\/strong><\/p>\n

Gr\u0103be\u0219te-te, Doamne: e timpul s\u0103 vii
\nia-\u021bi mantia alb\u0103 brodat\u0103 cu astre
\ndeja fierbe vinul, s\u0103lbatic, prin vii
\n\u0219i \u0219uier\u0103 criv\u0103\u021b prin oasele noastre<\/p>\n

chiar \u0219i devremele-i deja prea t\u00e2rziu
\ngr\u0103be\u0219te-te, Doamne, vino \u0219i ia-m\u0103
\ndeja url\u0103 norii prin cerul pustiu
\ngr\u0103be\u0219te-te, Doamne: e timpul. Mi-e team\u0103!<\/p>\n


\nCenaclul dintre nori<\/strong><\/p>\n

Mai to\u021bi prietenii mei poe\u021bi
\ncu care mi-am cheltuit tinere\u021bea
\nzilele de zbateri aprinse
\n\u0219i \u0219i nop\u021bile de zburdalnic nesomn
\ns-au mutat \u00een Cer
\nla Cenaclul dintre nori.<\/p>\n

Se aud \u0219i se v\u0103d chiar de-aici de la mine:
\nvocea tun\u0103tor-col\u021buroas\u0103 a lui Dumitru al Pe\u0219terii
\npsalmii \u00een\u0103l\u021ba\u021bi c\u0103tre \u00eengeri de Constantin al Dorului
\nimnele melodioase ale lui Ion al Lacrimei…<\/p>\n

Numai eu, nevolnicul, am r\u0103mas aici pe P\u0103m\u00e2nt
\ns\u0103 contabilizez resturile unui trecut
\ncare nu mai exist\u0103
\n\u0219i nici nu \u0219tiu dac\u0103 a existat
\nvreodat\u0103…
\nPoate c\u0103 nici nu merit mai mult.<\/p>\n

C\u00e2t\u0103 umilin\u021b\u0103…!<\/p>\n


\nGabriel DRAGNEA <\/strong>
\n\"\"

Aripi albastre<\/strong><\/p>\n

De atunci eu nu mai dorm noaptea…
\n\u00cei caut cea\u021ba s\u0103-mi hr\u0103nesc cuvintele
\nTremur\u00e2nde \u00een ecou de vioar\u0103 abandonat\u0103
\nCare strig\u0103 \u0219i acum f\u0103r\u0103 vlag\u0103
\nTulbur\u00e2nd zborul \u00eengerilor
\nL\u00e2ng\u0103 por\u021bile ruginite ale cerului:
\n\u201e… \u00een visele p\u0103s\u0103rilor, p\u0103s\u0103rilor
\ndoar poe\u021bii, poe\u021bii au aripi….”
\n\u0218i-apoi, brusc, peste ecoul \u00eentrerupt
\nCoboar\u0103 t\u0103cerea \u00eencet,
\nCa o lacrim\u0103 de copil
\nPeste o fracturat\u0103 arip\u0103 de fluture,
\nCa un giulgiu tras prea devreme
\nPeste ochii unui muribund.<\/p>\n

Din noaptea aceea, din turnul cu ceasul stricat,
\nLa miezul nop\u021bii se arunc\u0103 r\u0103va\u0219e \u00een alb-negru
\nPentru ultimii vis\u0103tori ai cet\u0103\u021bii:
\n\u201ePoe\u021bii au aripi albastre!”<\/p>\n


\nDeja vu<\/strong><\/p>\n

Unii spun c\u0103 nu ar fi bine
\nS\u0103 se \u00eentoarc\u0103 la tine
\nCa-ntr-un vis de zi \u00eembr\u0103cat \u00een uimire
\nMomente deja petrecute…
\nDar, m\u0103 \u00eentreb, cu-aceea\u0219i tres\u0103rire
\nDe ce este r\u0103u s\u0103 resimt \u00een glas c\u00e2ntul \u00eengerilor
\n\u0218i sub fiecare pas pl\u0103cerea drumului
\nSpre livezile \u00eenc\u0103 ne-nmugurite,
\n\u00cenc\u0103 nem\u0103rginite din Gr\u0103dina Edenului?
\nDe ce s\u0103 nu m\u0103 bucur
\nC\u00e2nd simt sub pleoape
\nAceia\u0219i copii ren\u0103sc\u00e2ndu-se z\u00e2mbind
\nDoar \u00een dimine\u021bile \u00eenviorate de rou\u0103,
\nC\u00e2nd sechestrezi t\u0103cerile la umbra dorului,
\nC\u00e2nd plou\u0103 \u00een vechi calendare!?
\nSunt eu, acela\u0219i om uitat \u00eentre clipe amare
\nM\u00e2ng\u00e2iate doar de anotimpuri
\nCare ofteaz\u0103 la fiecare r\u0103s\u0103rit
\nPe aripile albatro\u0219ilor.<\/p>\n

Mai \u021bii minte, la cununia noastr\u0103,
\nC\u00e2nd, primii care au ie\u0219it din biseric\u0103 bucur\u00e2ndu-se,
\nAu fost fluturii?<\/p>\n


\nDescul\u021b printre g\u00e2nduri<\/strong><\/p>\n

M-am s\u0103turat de rolul acesta…
\n\u00cel joc de mii de ori \u00een fiecare via\u021b\u0103
\n\u0218i nicio triste\u021be nu \u00eenghea\u021b\u0103
\n\u00cen iernile pe care le sculptez
\nPe venele lor moarte
\nPrin care trec doar regrete
\n\u0218i niciun dor, nicio prim\u0103var\u0103,
\nNici m\u0103car un ecou, strig\u0103t de copil,
\nInvita\u021bie la jocul \u201eDescul\u021b printre g\u00e2nduri”…
\nNimic!
\nCelor cu m\u0103\u0219tile uzate,
\nCare nu mai spun nimic,
\nNiciun refren despre via\u021b\u0103
\nLe sigilez glasul \u0219i le ung trupul
\nCu parfum de via\u021b\u0103 nou\u0103
\n\u0218i le pun \u00een inimi muguri de prim\u0103var\u0103
\nCule\u0219i din privirile copiilor.
\nM-am s\u0103turat de rolul acesta
\n\u00cen care num\u0103r t\u0103cerile
\nAscult\u00e2nd la gramofonul lumii
\nAcela\u0219i refren al piesei \u201eUn monde malade”.
\nEu trebuie s\u0103 tac, a\u0219a, ca o tain\u0103
\n\u0218i s\u0103 \u00eempart nop\u021bile tuturor poe\u021bilor,
\nS\u0103 scrie ei despre toate acestea.<\/p>\n


\nDincolo de Helion…<\/strong><\/p>\n

Mi-am pierdut cele dou\u0103 priviri
\nNe\u00eence\u021bo\u0219ate \u0219i clare
\nCu care \u00eemi \u00eembr\u0103cam ochii \u00een zilele de s\u0103rb\u0103toare!
\nIeri, griul era verde, galbenul era verde \u0219i negrul la fel…
\nAst\u0103zi, pe str\u0103zi observ c\u0103 s-au n\u0103scut culori \u0219i nuan\u021be noi
\n\u0218i lumea nu mai \u0219tie \u00een care-albastru s\u0103 \u00ee\u0219i scalde trupul.
\n\u021ai-a\u0219 mai spune ceva, dar f\u0103r\u0103 s\u0103 te superi….
\nPe Helion, dincolo de nuferi
\nPegas s-a r\u0103t\u0103cit printre at\u00e2tea culori
\n\u0218i nu mai putem s\u0103 ne \u00eentoarcem acas\u0103!
\nNu-\u021bi fie team\u0103!
\nPe g\u00e2nduri, doar t\u0103cerea muzelor m-apas\u0103.<\/p>\n

P.S:
\nSper c\u0103 ai primit fotografia
\nCu mine \u00eensetat
\nL\u00e2ng\u0103 f\u00e2nt\u00e2na Hipocrena!<\/p>\n


\nTot ce am scris…<\/strong><\/p>\n

Tot ce am scris p\u00e2n\u0103 acum pe asfalt
\nva fi arestat de ploaie!
\nToate versurile de dragoste
\ndedicate tuturor acelora
\ncare au uitat s\u0103 deosebeasc\u0103 albastrul de galben
\nVor prinde curaj \u00eentr-o zi
\n\u0218i vor zbura al\u0103turi de p\u0103s\u0103ri
\ndornice s\u0103 zg\u00e2rie cerul cu visul lor liber.<\/p>\n

Tot ce am sculptat p\u00e2n\u0103 acum \u00een praf
\nva fi arestat de v\u00e2nt!
\nToate g\u00e2ndurile mele vor fi cernite de \u00eengeri
\n\u0219i va ninge \u00een Duminica S\u0103racilor
\npeste trupuri sc\u0103ldate \u00een nelini\u0219ti \u0219i umbre
\n\u0219i peste versurile scrise pe asfalt,
\nsub pa\u0219ii oamenilor care \u0219i-au v\u00e2ndut privirea,
\npe frun\u021bile p\u0103s\u0103rilor \u00eempietrite pe cer.<\/p>\n


\n…c\u00e2nd mi-a atins aripa
\n<\/strong><\/strong> din amintirile unui \u00eenger<\/em>
\n– dedicat\u0103 poetului Mihai Eminescu –<\/em><\/p>\n

Curios, l-am \u00eentrebat cum s-au cunoscut.
\n– Treceam gr\u0103bit spre un poet muribund
\nC\u00e2nd m-a atins u\u0219or \u0219i mi-a spus ceva
\nDe parc\u0103 s-ar fi destr\u0103mat cerul nostru,
\nCucerit de o lume nou\u0103 hr\u0103nit\u0103 cu haos \u0219i-ntuneric:
\n– Un alt poet \u00ee\u0219i ia r\u0103mas bun!?
\n\u0218i a completat pe un ton discret
\nDe parc\u0103 un secret \u00eencerca s\u0103 evadeze
\nPrintre buze pecetluite:
\n-Te rog, las\u0103-le oamenilor privirea spre ceruri deschise,
\nNeuitarea propriilor poeme din suflet
\n\u0218i deseneaz\u0103-le dezam\u0103girile cu amintiri ale fluturilor
\n\u0218i jocul lor din visele copiilor s\u0103raci!
\n– Dragul nostru Eminescu, \u00een fiecare ianuarie,
\nC\u00e2nd p\u0103m\u00e2ntul abia r\u0103sufl\u0103 de greul ce-l poart\u0103
\n\u0218i tremur\u0103, erupe, a\u0219teapt\u0103 oameni noi \u0219i tace
\nNum\u0103r\u00e2nd mii de genera\u021bii de pa\u0219i gr\u0103bi\u021bi spre himere…
\nVin iernile, ah, iernile lumii cuib\u0103rite-n poeme
\nDespre na\u0219terea ta \u0219i triste\u021bea din propria clepsidr\u0103!
\n– Doar de copii mi-e dor, drag\u0103 Varahiil,
\nDe sufletul lor \u00eenmugurit mereu
\nCa o prim\u0103var\u0103 descul\u021b\u0103 aleas\u0103 regin\u0103
\nPeste destinele anotimpurilor.<\/p>\n

– L-ai mai v\u0103zut de atunci?
\n– \u00cel privesc mereu, din zori \u0219i p\u00e2n\u0103-n sear\u0103
\nCum sculpteaz\u0103 lini\u0219ti \u00een lacrimile oamenilor.
\nDe atunci, \u00een fiecare ianuarie
\nL\u0103s\u0103m Por\u021bile Cerurilor deschise
\nS\u0103 vad\u0103 toat\u0103 lumea aleile Paradisului
\nDesenate de el cu visele oamenilor,
\nDorul lor viu, \u00eembr\u0103cat \u00een haine de-a\u0219teptare
\nM\u00e2ng\u00e2iat de aripile de sidef ale \u00eengerilor.
\nDe-atunci pe-aleea aceea i s-a gravat numele-n piatr\u0103
\nCa niciodat\u0103, nimeni s\u0103 nu uite clipa
\nDin ziua aceea c\u00e2nd mi-a atins aripa.<\/p>\n


\nViorel DODAN<\/strong>
\n\"\"

Exod<\/strong><\/p>\n

simt uneori
\nc\u0103 plec din mine
\nf\u0103r\u0103 s\u0103 \u0219tiu unde, nici de ce
\n\u0219tiu doar c\u0103 plec
\ncu toate amintirile f\u0103cute snop,
\ncu toate emo\u021biile de-a valma
\n\u00eentr-un sac din plastic
\ncu regretele \u00eendesate \u00eentr-o lad\u0103
\nde zestre de pe vremea bunicii
\ndoar bucuriile le-am pus la vedere
\nat\u00e2rnate la spatele c\u0103ru\u021bei
\nde ,,inima\u201d ei de lemn
\npe care st\u0103team c\u00e2nd eram copil
\n\u0219i c\u00e2nd ro\u021bile aveau spi\u021be tot din lemn
\nde\u0219i simt c\u0103 plec
\nam sentimentul r\u0103m\u00e2nerii
\ncu toate bagajele gr\u0103mad\u0103
\n\u00een praful unui drum f\u0103r\u0103 sf\u00e2r\u0219it
\n\u0219i f\u0103r\u0103 \u00eenceput
\n\u00een dep\u0103rtare
\napa mor\u021bilor a\u0219teapt\u0103 tremur\u0103toare
\npe cineva s-o despart\u0103
\n\u00een drumul spre Marea Trecere Dincolo<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

Valeria MANTA T\u0102ICU\u021aU Liceu, cimitir\u2026 Au trecut ore, zile, s\u0103pt\u0103m\u00e2ni. A venit toamna \u00een marele ora\u0219, respira\u021bia ei a devenit<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":18,"featured_media":10070,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"colormag_page_container_layout":"default_layout","colormag_page_sidebar_layout":"default_layout","_monsterinsights_skip_tracking":false,"_uf_show_specific_survey":0,"_uf_disable_surveys":false,"ngg_post_thumbnail":0,"video_url":"","footnotes":""},"categories":[7,328],"tags":[],"aioseo_notices":[],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/ziarulderimnic.ro\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/15512"}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/ziarulderimnic.ro\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/ziarulderimnic.ro\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/ziarulderimnic.ro\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/users\/18"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/ziarulderimnic.ro\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcomments&post=15512"}],"version-history":[{"count":3,"href":"https:\/\/ziarulderimnic.ro\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/15512\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":15516,"href":"https:\/\/ziarulderimnic.ro\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/15512\/revisions\/15516"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/ziarulderimnic.ro\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/media\/10070"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/ziarulderimnic.ro\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=15512"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/ziarulderimnic.ro\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcategories&post=15512"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/ziarulderimnic.ro\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Ftags&post=15512"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}